J.R.R. Tolkein once opined, “Not all those who wander are lost.” And this particular day had no destination and purpose other than a “roadtrip to Seattle” and “seeing where we end up.”
What I didn’t know is what I’d learn about God that day.
As my friend and I walked along the Seattle waterfront, our footfall led us past the Seattle aquarium. Despite the fact that it wasn’t long until closing, we decided to go in and make the most of the time remaining.
That most of the visitors had left was itself a treat. We flitted effortlessly amongst displays, and just as if you were the only one at a large banquet spread, we glanced and gazed and shifted looking for the best of the best to feast upon. And as fate might have it, on this occasion and at this moment I separated from my partner and wandered into a room to find myself entirely alone.
Or so I thought.
The room was circular, glass all around. In the middle of the room was a tall, columnar tank that provided for 360-degree viewing of its resident, an octopus. It was crouched under a rock on the far side of the tank. I approached. I stared.
And the octopus stared back like it actually saw me, too.
In this moment I remembered a couple things from long ago when I’d owned fish tanks. One, you probably don’t want to tap and knock on tanks. Two, the water and glass would distort what was being seen from the other side, but that it would be less so if there was direct contact with the glass. I raised my hand and, to increase the amount of flesh that would touch the tank, I gently laid my index finger knuckle-to-knuckle against the glass. I held it there, unmoving.
After a bit the octopus reached out a tentacle — just its tentacle — across the gap between the rock it was under and the glass. The tentacle glided up and toward me, touching the glass where my finger was pressed. I just stayed still, and after some hesitation, it began to slowly move the rest of its body so as to close the distance between us.
Eternity flew by and, as we held this gaze at each other, the octopus started changing color. Like a face flushing, the whole of the creature turned a deep, slightly purplish rose. We just sat there, still, staring, touching.
In all of this I’d failed to notice an aquarium employee enter the room. When he spoke, though, it was in a low tone of voice like he’d been watching us, respecting the holiness of the moment.
“They turn that color as a sign of love and affection,” he said.
The aquarium had closed for business and it was time to move on. The staff kindly invited us stick around while they were cleaning up and shutting down for the night, so we lingered awhile longer in a silence — both of us in the glorious absence of tourist chatter and me in the reverie of this wordless conversation with an octopus. I didn’t want the feeling to end, and I couldn’t shake the thought that I’d just had an octopus say, “I love you. We left the aquarium and started the three-hour drive back to Portland. In silence.
The ancient writings of the Jewish prophet Isaiah include imagery of enemy creatures at peace with one another, (11:6; 65:25), and phrases like “the lion will lie down with the lamb” have become idioms that survive now 2600 years later.
What Isaiah is alluding to, though is greater than simple earthly cohabitation or absence of conflict — he’s speaking to the deepest longing of the human heart. There is something about the way we’re wired that longs for that peace and connectedness.
And that something — what we all sense — is a something that, uniquely, the Christian worldview answers. We are made in the image of God – a God that created us to be in relationship with him, and this that we can deduce from simple logic: God is, by His very nature, relational. His very nature is trinitarian – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit eternally existing as three persons sharing a single essence. And purely from a logic standpoint, this is the only worldview that fully and coherently explains why we are the way we are.
There is a reason you long to know and be known. There is a reason that you desire to be in perfect harmony with others. It’s because the Creator of the cosmos created you in His image, and He is perfect relational harmony as Father, Son, and Spirit. And the good news is that, by launching a mission to rescue us from the brokenness that prevents that harmony, right here and now we can experience that connection as you live for the hope.
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Roger Courville, CSP is a globally-recognized expert in communications, an award-winning author, and a passionately bad guitarist. A five-time entrepreneur and certified John Maxwell Team leadership coach, his latest endeavor is For The Hope, a daily Bible and apologetics podcast and training company equipping on-the-go professionals with confidence and courage for marketplace relationships. On Twitter can follow him @RogerCourville and/or his podcast @JoinForTheHope, or get all updates by email subscription at www.forthehope.org.